


Unreasonable Fashion

by Not_the_sun



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Trixya if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 17:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15466533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_the_sun/pseuds/Not_the_sun
Summary: A really heavy wig gives Trixie Mattel a terrible headache. Katya helps.





	Unreasonable Fashion

**Author's Note:**

> I dreamed this up after Trixie complained about how her wig was so heavy at drag-con. I want more whump and sickfics in this fandom. 
> 
> There's a pov shift here and there that I couldn't figure out how to get around, so I hope it reads okay. I am a long time writer and never-poster so I greatly appreciate feedback.
> 
> Boys with girl pronouns.

 

_Get off, Off Off off OFF._ Trixie reached for the last pin in her hair and tugged off the demon on her head. It had a been a gag worthy piece from the minute she stepped onto the Drag-con floor, but after almost a full day of it squeezing her head, Trixie needed it OFF.

The small headache she had endured after the first hour had set off a few warning bells, but she'd sucked it up like a pro. After all, Drag _hurt._ There had most likely some bigger, more famous hair out on the floor for sure, and she'd spent the entire day committed to the look.

Now though, an unbearably long time later, it had taken every ounce of professional strength inside of her to not undress in the elevator on the way to her hotel room.

She stumbled into her room, bleary eyed. She felt sick, dizzy like she'd been drinking away a bad breakup. She hadn't touched a drop.

“ _This is 7 wigs,”_ she had told the crowd proudly at her panel. _“I'm not saying it's a competition but I win.”_

Trixie impatiently wretched the hair off, tossing it none-to-gently onto the bed. She sighed heavily in relief, half expecting to feel better.

After a beat, the pain ebbed slightly but to her horror, the nausea didn't.

She made it to the bathroom in record time, retching over the toilet bowl loudly. Tears pricked the corners of her over-painted eyes as she winced at the horrific sound.

The pain hadn't really gotten any better. It had grown into what she imagined a brain tumor felt like.

Trembling from the act of being sick, she slouched down to the cold tile. She needed to get up but now that she was down, moving didn't feel like an option.

The soft noise that escaped Trixie sounded too much like a sob to her own ears, high pitched and pathetic in the echo of the tiled bathroom. She leaned back and shivered as her thin dress made contact with the hard porcelain of the tub behind her. The fluorescent lights from the bathroom were suddenly too bright and she could feel the glue on her eyelashes pulling as she squeezed her eyes tightly.

She tugged off the lashes with shaking fingers and mashed her palms into her eyes. The world narrowed into darkness and a white white sound, like static from an old TV.

*                                          *                                           *                                                   *                                     *

 

She couldn't guess how long she'd been sitting in the quiet, acrid taste on her tongue and her head pounding like a jackhammer. She rocked back and fourth, breathing harshly through her nose. She'd decided to live on the floor. Yes, she would just stay here until whatever parasite in her head killed her and put her out of her fucking misery.

A knock at the door startled her. A small electronic beep and a loud click of a hotel keycard made Trixie wince at the sound.

“Tracey dear,” Katya called out in her 'mother' voice. “Are you _decent_??”

The buzz of noise coming from Katya was probably more words, but Trixie couldn't discern them through the pounding in her skull.

Every syllable felt like a little jab to her temples, right through the eyes. She buried her head again in her knees.

She knew the second Katya found her that it was going to be dramatic, but it was hard to think of anything clever to say as a warning as Katya strode into the small room in a few quick steps.

“Trixie?!”

Now that her head was down, it felt too heavy to lift. The worry was evident in Katya's voice, but Trixie knew that Katya wasn't an idiot, she could see a wig-less queen near a toilet and put two and two together. 

True to form, Katya whirled around in an almost cartoonish manner, heading to the counter to look for a glass. There was a sound of crashing and clinking that made her wince before Trixie felt a glass being pushed into her shaking hand.

She lifted it, the glass clacking her teeth and nearly slipping. Katya caught it, bringing it back to her lips.

“Jesus Tracey.”

Trixie let the slightly cool water slide down her throat, humming gratefully as it washed away the burn.

“Wild party or bad clams, mama?” Katya asked.

With the last bit of energy she didn't know she had, Trixie heaved her shaking body back over to the toilet to spit. She slumped back from the toilet with a pained whine, clamping her hands back over her eyes, further ruining her makeup. Her head continued to throb.

“Are you sick? You know you're not supposed to get con-plague until after the convention right? ”

Trixie took a shaky breath and shook her head, eyes still shut. _why do drag queens have to have such big fucking hair who even started that shit_

“Tapeworm? Bite from a rabid fan? Drinking the glamazon kool-aid?” Katya asked. “OH! Are you pregnant?”

Distantly, Trixie realized she still hadn't spoken a word, which was probably not doing great things for her friend's nerves.

“...wg” she mumbled into the darkness of her hands and knees.

“What?”

_Nope. That wasn't talking._

Trixie tried again. “...my wig”

“The _wig_?” Katya's presence left her as she shambled away, into the bedroom. In a booming voice, she cried “Is it _possessed?_ OUT damn devils! I vanquish thee!”

Katya trailed off into some kind of ancient chant that sounded like a mix of Latin, Russian, and a long Starbucks order, but stopped...probably because Trixie wasn't laughing.

The humor wasn't exactly misplaced, in any other kind of day or situation, Trixie would have absolutely laughed, been grateful for the distraction, but her headache was taking over all thought.

Katya was near her again. Trixie was half aware of the warm hand on her shoulder, of Katya's long fingers digging circles in a casual massage. The touch helped ground her, stopping the room from continuing to wobble like she'd had one too many.

Trixie lifted her head from her knees long enough for Katya to really clock her face.

She knew what she must look like, her face an oil slick of blacks and browns surrounding her eyes, now bloodshot from rubbing them, her makeup job far closer to a soldier than the beautiful woman she had been all day. Her gaze flitted to her friend for the first time since Katya had entered the room.

“Well, you look like hell.” Katya confirmed with a smirk. Trixie could see that she had de-dragged at some point in the evening, now dressed in a white graphic T-shirt and shorts, smiling with her perfect perfect teeth. “Although I'm thinking that might be more because of your camouflage-predator-realness that you're serving right now.”

Trixie hmm-ed in agreement, fighting the urge to bury her head again. The light  _hurt._

Katya studied her with concern. The silence seemed to throw her for a loop. Or maybe Trixie did look as awful as she felt. 

A push on her shoulder. “Hey. What do you need?”

Trixie stared at her blankly. “Kill me?”

Her friend snorted, pulling away. “I think maybe you should try drugs first. Did you take anything yet?”

“Ugh.” Trixie extended her arm, dramatically exposing her wrist. Her palm was covered in smears of black makeup from absently rubbing her face. “Just...find a vein.”

Katya laughed from the other side of the room, digging through Trixie's pink suitcase labeled _Drag Bag_. “Those days are long behind me, Barbara. Where the hell do you keep your Tylenol? Do you even take anything when you're on the rag?”

 

Katya kept making jokes, trying to push down the panic she had been feeling since she'd entered the room. She'd taken care of enough drunks and drugged friends in her past but this was _Trixie_ here, her friend, confidant and favorite, _favorite_ person. She couldn't just manhandle her into bed like a flopping trout.

The doll-like queen was barely talking, not even coherently complaining, which bothered Katya more than she would care to admit. A special edition barbie made with softer parts. _Handle with care_

Katya was pretty certain she'd never seen or heard of Trixie being so put out from pain before. And this was a migraine... if the way Trixie was reacting was any indication. Did Trixie ever get migraines? Light, sound, nausea... the holy trinity of headaches.

By some miracle, the blessed Saint Katya found a bottle of ibprophen tucked in the corner of Trixie's suitcase, hiding under a wad of pantyhose. She poured a few into her hand and hurried back to the bathroom.

Trixie hadn't moved from her spot on the floor. Katya quickly pushed a few pills into Trixie's palm and she knocked them back without looking, trusting her completely.

“I didn't know headaches made you throw up.”

Trixie swallowed the pills and moaned miserably. “Neither did I.”

Katya chewed on her lip, thinking of the best way to help. _Migraine so..._ She flicked off the light switch, counting on the hallway to provide enough light for them, and knelt down in front of Trixie.

The Russian queen tugged Trixie's arm gently and pulled her forward, letting Trixie bury her face into the crook of Katya's clean T-shirt. Trixie closed her eyes again, pressing down into Katya's shoulder in an effort to put pressure in her aching head. Too late Katya remembered Trixie's makeup, but the shirt would probably look more interesting after anyway.

A warm wetness blooming across her shoulder made Katya pause as her brain stuttered to the realization that Trixie was _crying._

“Trixie?”

“It hurts so fuckin' bad.” Her voice cracked. “I-I think my head is splitting open.”

Although Trixie was a self-confessed easy crier, Katya was sympathetic. A protective feeling washed over her in a weird, almost motherly way.

She hugged Trixie closer, rubbing smooth circles on her back in an attempt at comfort. “Maybe one of the drag fans has special mind-exploding powers. Do you hear a ringing? Should I alert the hotel authorities of a potential _Scanners_ situation?”

Trixie sniffled into Katya's shirt. Katya was grateful that she'd hadn't had a smoke in it yet. “It's probably just a migraine. Let's get you out of drags and off the floor, kay?”

“...rying to see my ass again.”

Katya let out a huff of a laugh. “Oh only always, Tracey." 

She ran a hand through Trixie's short, sweat slicked hair for a few minutes before reaching down to unzip her dress. She drew the zipper down to the small of her back, revealing Trixie's waist cincher.

The angle was awkward and Katya couldn't see exactly what she was doing, but her expert fingers found the ribbons of the corset and pulled. Trixie's breath was hot on her neck as she breathed a small sigh, freed of the cincher.

“Too bad you wore such a complicated drag today,” Katya tugged the dress down Trixie's broad shoulders. “No bra, you slut?” There was a hum against her shoulder as Trixie mumbled a response that Katya couldn't hear but she hoped was about her being a bitch. She laughed anyway.

“I know, I know. Bedroom fantasy,” she quoted softly. _And you think I wasn't listening_ “No one wears a bra to bed. Which is where we're going, alright? Do you think you can stand up?”

Trixie stilled against her, reluctant to move or slow to respond, Katya didn't know.

“Oh! Oh wait, a second! Shit, _Sorry_ ” She apologized as Trixie flinched at the change in volume. “I'll be right back, okay?” Katya carefully extracted the other queen from her shoulder and stood up. Trixie sagged forward at the loss.

 

Katya reappeared seconds minutes or hours later. “See me with them hands, Mama.”

With the strangely careful way that Katya was handling her, Trixie half expected Katya to scoop her into her arms and carry her bride-style out of the room.

The reality was less ridiculous. Katya just grabbed her hands and heaved Trixie to her feet.

The room swayed but mostly stayed put as Katya helped her shrug off the remaining pieces of her clothes and walked her over to the bed with careful steps. Katya had tossed the wigs and suitcase out of the way, clearing the bed hurriedly but acting far more careful with Trixie's drag than her own. In the dim light of the room _oh thank you Bitch,_ Trixie all but fell into the sheets and started to curl up on her side.

Katya's hand on her shoulder gently stopped her. “Not yet, Travolta. That face is coming off.”

Trixie's whine was pitiful to her own ears. Was Katya worried about the goddamn hotel _pillows?_

“Just _leave_ it _._ I don't fucking _care._ ” She was content to cry off her makeup until she felt better or fell asleep.

“Yes you will.” Katya reasoned. “And your wrinkles will have vanished overnight!” Her arm waved in a dramatic flourish.

With a heavy sigh, Trixie rolled onto her back, knowing fully well that she couldn't sleep that way. Only Sharon Needles and hospital patients could sleep on their backs, although Trixie was certainly feeling crappy enough to be giving hospital fantasy.

The position made her dizziness increase, she fought to peer up at Katya through half-lidded eyes.

Katya met her gaze, face soft but determined.

“You better not sing to me.” Trixie warned.

A wheeze of laughter escaped Katya's lips. “Oh _bitch_.” She crossed her arms and stood up. “You don't deserve my _pervicacious_ tones and deep alto bravado.” She gathered several towels from the bathroom and set them on the bed.

“But Mama what I lack in singing talent I more than make up for in yoga techniques. I am a yoga _fucking master._ Did you know that doing meditative breathing can help your migraine? _”_

Trixie blearily stared at Katya. “What?”

Meditation was one of those ridiculous Hollywood things that made everyone there seem so pretentious to Trixie. It wasn't lost on her that it had done something for Katya, who seemed to have gone through every yoga iteration that she came across, but that didn't mean it worked for Midwest country trash.

Katya's smile was bright and wide, clearly excited but showing restraint. “Bitch, are you denying my credentials? Have you ever meditated before?”

Trixie sighed, shaking her head. No

“Just lie there, close your eyes, and listen to me while I get the makeup off.”

Her brain couldn't come up with an argument. Or maybe she didn't have the energy. Whatever. She sighed, defeated, and closed her eyes. “No dish soap.”

Katya was still standing but she hovered over the bed and gently pulled Trixie to face her, cupping her ear and not quite her made up cheek. She spread her long fingers up to Trixie's temple, rubbing in small circles while her other hand expertly wiped away the make up in smooth strokes.

Katya kept her voice low, starting a narrative of deep breathing and mindful instruction.

Trixie was surprised to feel Katya focusing on her eye makeup first, quickly swiping it away with makeup wipes. Her movements were careful but it didn't feel great; Trixie's makeup had been as heavy-handed as ever.

She felt a warm towel being placed over her eyes and settled on top. A small measure of relief.

As she tried to breathe the way Katya advised, Trixie distantly mused that Katya was _good_ at this, expecting her friend's instructions to sidle off into a random tangent or two. Katya was crazy—she loved Katya's crazy, but there were no jokes, not even the occasional quips.

Katya remained a professional until the last of Trixie's makeup was off. Trixie felt a second warm towel pass across her face, wiping away the remover residue and the last of her smudged lipstick.

There was a firm push against her shoulder so she turned over, allowing Katya to slide into the bed next to her. She wasn't sure if she'd actually mediated, but her body felt free of some of the tension.

A wave of dizziness assaulted her again and she stiffened, sucking in a surprised breath.

Katya commented behind her in concern, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“m fine,” Trixie grunted. “Dizzy... did you rufee me?”

Fingers dug into Trixie's scalp, expertly finding the pressure points, and _that_ felt so good that she could have nearly rolled over and kissed Katya. _Yoga fucking master_

“No you dumb bitch,” Katya chuckled. “You're just fucking exhausted from working all day.”

She was right. In her haze of pain, Trixie had forgotten how tired the convention had made her.

“You worked too.” Trixie mumbled into her pillow, her voice thick with oncoming sleep.

“Yeah, but _I_ didn't try to wear unreasonable fashion.”

Trixie smirked into the pillow, unable to help herself from mumbling.“Ladies ...and gentlemen...welcome to the stage...”

Katya's voice timed with hers as she unsurprisingly finished Trixie's punchline with a soft laugh.

“Go to sleep, Tracey,” she said. “The big bad wig can't hurt you anymore. I took care of it.”

 

Whether that meant Katya had set the headpiece ablaze or exorcised it of demons, Trixie decided she could wait till morning to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Thanks for reading!

 


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